


I Died (And You've Already Ruined My Life)

by BooBalooPants



Category: Titanic (1997)
Genre: M/M, RMS Titanic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 14:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17326436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BooBalooPants/pseuds/BooBalooPants
Summary: Cal dies, and the last person he thinks he wants to see in his supposed 'afterlife' is Jack Dawson. But Jack knows better, of course. Could be Cal/Jack. But doesn't have to be.





	I Died (And You've Already Ruined My Life)

**Author's Note:**

> an: quick one-shot I wanted to have a stab at. Implied cal/jack, but very slight blink and you miss it. I swear.  
> Trigger warning for suicide and suicidal themes.

After Cal pulled the trigger, he died. And then Jack Dawson was standing in front of him.

He'd not been expecting that.

He'd expected something...no,  _anything_  else. He didn't know what, though.

Perhaps oblivion; in which there was nothing at all. But that couldn't be right, because he was still  _thinking_ , and he still had his arms and his legs and his hands, and everything else he'd eventually grown too tired of looking at in his very tiresome life.

And oblivion certainly  _wasn't_  Jack Dawson.

Perhaps then it should have been some version of an afterlife? A version in which he saw people he'd become fond of in his lifetime. His mother might have been there. Even a less stony version of his father, at a push. But there was nobody like that here, and Cal wondered if he'd ever actually been fond of anyone.

_No, that wasn't true._

Either way, he'd certainly  _never_  been fond of Jack Dawson.

He was reluctant to think about heaven. Sure, he'd attended church services, but he'd never really  _believed_  what he was singing about. In any case, heaven would have held him up to a bar that he couldn't possibly measure up to anymore.

Cal had killed himself. If there was a heaven, he would surely go to hell.

Maybe this was it, then.

He was in hell, and Jack Dawson was there. Just to rub it in.

It made sense.

"What are  _you_  doing here?" Cal demanded, anyway.

 _How absurd._ As if he had any right to be indignant about his own death, or disappointed about it. He was, though. He couldn't help it.

Jack seemed to know it, and his mouth curved up, like a smirk.

He shrugged.

"I dunno. I guess I just wanted to be sure."

Cal rushed a hand through his hair. It felt tangled and damp with perspiration. It wasn't fair; how was he still so aware and  _irritated_  by everything, even in death?

"Sure of _what_?" he snapped.

"I wanted to be sure it was you."

"Well it is. _Surprise_."

"I can see that now," and Jack took a couple of steps towards him.

He was the same as Cal remembered him, however many years earlier. Same earnest walk and smile, same basic clothes that somehow looked good on him, and an aura of the wise about him.

Cal surprised himself with his own vivid recollection of a man he'd known only a few days, and yet had still somehow managed to ruin his life. Because he had to blame someone for this, of course.

He liked to pin it on that ship now, too. And it was almost poetic.

Titanic had sunk, and so had Cal, soon after. He didn't think he'd ever resurfaced properly since then. Always fighting a useless current of shame and gossip, always frozen by unexpected regret, and unable to steer his way clear of the iceberg which was his memories.

Those sorts of memories that came in the middle of night, cold and without warning. Just to remind him how foolish he'd been.

_How could he forget any of that?_

"You look well," Jack said.

"What?" Cal blurted a laugh. "I  _died_ , Dawson."

"Yeah, that's why I'm surprised. You were messy about it, weren't you?"

"I suppose. But I don't have to clean up the mess," Cal turned away. "I don't have to worry about anything, anymore."

"Is that why you did it?"

"...what?"

"Were you worrying about things?"

Cal glared. "It's none of your business."

"Must have been a lot worries, that's all," Jack said, like he'd decided for himself.

It made Cal more frustrated.

"What does it matter  _why_  I did it? It's done now. I can't regret it. I  _don't_  regret it."

"I understand," Jack nodded. "So. Did you leave someone behind? I mean, someone you care about?"

Cal stared at him.

"I don't..." he stopped himself. "I don't have to tell  _you_  these things. Why are you even here, anyway?"

"I told you. I just wanted to be sure it was you," Jack's voice became softer, like he was trying to be soothing about it. "That's all."

Cal shook his head, more to himself. He looked around for the first time.

Everything in his office was as he'd left it. Cal could remember every detail, somehow.

There was an unopened brandy bottle sitting on the table; he remembered that very well. He'd been contemplating it for a while, but he'd never got round to drinking it. Papers were neatly piled on the table, just as he'd left them, and there was a pencil set to one side, and a screwed up scrap of paper near to it.

"Oh. So did you leave a note, then?"

"What?" Cal blinked at Jack, suddenly remembering he was still there. "...no. No point in that."

"Did you plan it?"

Cal smiled sardonically. "What is this? Some kind of interview?"

"I just wondered."

Cal clenched his jaw.

"I thought about it. Rather a lot, actually. I wouldn't say I planned it, though."

He looked down at the ground for the first time, and saw the blood seeping under his feet, but not really touching them.

A few feet away, he saw himself.

It was strange seeing his own body, just lying bloodied and too still. It didn't look like himself anymore, and he was irritated by the flecks of blood that dotted his white collar, completely ruining the outfit.

Jack sucked in a breath, almost like an impressed sound. He knelt down to the body.

"It's pretty messy, isn't it? I don't envy whoever finds you."

"Suppose it is a bit unpleasant," Cal considered it. "Oh well."

He tried to think about who might find him first. Probably an intern, some nameless person who he couldn't have cared less about. They'd probably find it amusing, too. Cal hadn't been pleasant to anyone he'd worked with, in later years.

He noticed the silver pistol then, laid across the ground, near his open hand.

"I wasn't going to do it today."

Jack looked at him.

"No?" he stood up. "Why did you, then?"

"I looked outside, at the sky," Cal said.

Now he remembered, like fragments of a dream, coming back together.

"It was such a nice day. And everyone was smiling and laughing. And I thought...how can  _everything_ be so wonderful, and I can still feel so wretched?"

He looked out the window again, and it was the same as he remembered. All sunshine and blue skies.

"I just thought; how the hell does it get better?"

"It could have done, though," Jack was at his side, very suddenly. "You just couldn't wait to find out."

"I'm an impatient person, what can I say."

"You couldn't have waited until tomorrow?"

Cal smiled grimly. "Tomorrow wouldn't have been any better, Dawson."

"But now you'll never know."

Cal glared at him, but wanted to be angrier than he felt.

"What are you doing, anyway?" he said. "Trying to lecture me with all your  _moral fibre_ , even in death? I don't need you to tell me I'm a terrible person."

"I don't think you're terrible," Jack said, and seemed to think on it. "Well. Sometimes you were pretty awful. And for a while I kind of thought you should have gone down with the ship. But still. You're not _terrible_ , Cal. Not completely."

Cal wanted to scoff, but his throat had tightened. Seeing Jack's expression fall into empathy somehow touched him. How odd.

"Why're you...why are you trying to make me feel better, Dawson? I was terrible to you. I tried to _kill_  you."

"I know. Bummer, isn't it?" Jack shrugged, smiling a bit more. "I dunno. I guess I just don't like that you picked this way out."

"Too messy, wasn't it?" Cal attempted a sneer. "Damn shame about that suit, too."

"I bet it cost a small fortune."

"Of course it did. I didn't even have the money for it," he laughed then, but it sounded strange in his ears. More like a choked sound. "I got stupid towards the end, I suppose. I've...I left them to fend for themselves."

 _Dear god._  He couldn't  _cry_ , not  _now._

He was on his knees, but he didn't know it until he noticed Jack knelt next to him. His hand hovered near Cal's back, but didn't touch it.

"They'll be alright," Jack said. "You raised them as well as you could."

Cal stared at his hands. They were marked with blood, for some reason.

"Their mother...my wife is much stronger than me. She'll be fine."

Jack nodded. "Of course she will, Cal."

His hand rested on Cal's shoulder, and it felt real. Like they were both still alive, and perhaps this wasn't actually happening after all.

Cal blinked, and Jack's face was sharper and clearer in front of him, like a flashback to when they'd first met.

"...is Rose with you?"

He'd not said her name for so long, it was almost like an experimental word, and then remembering her was a physical pain, hovering in his chest. Cal thought he might be sick. It wasn't anything romantic, or desperately yearning. It was possessive and envious and _ugly_.

Jack seemed to know it.

"I'm sorry you can't see her."

Perhaps it was for the best, though.

Cal glared at the ground. "Then why did you come here? To torment me?"

"Of course not. I told you. I don't like how it happened, and I'm sorry."

"So what now? You don't need to  _pity_ me, Dawson. You've already ruined my life, you know."

"I want to help you," Jack stood up then, and he kept an arm out, for Cal to grasp.

Cal stared at it, ridiculously wary, even in death. He'd always been a coward, anyway.

"Come on," Jack urged. "We don't have much time left."

"For what?" Cal decided to accept the hand, but frowned at Jack. "What're you talking about, anyway? I'm already dead, and so are you. There's all the time left in the world."

"You'd think that, wouldn't you? But it never works out like that."

Their hands broke apart as Jack walked to the office door.

Cal had left it unlocked, which was convenient for whenever someone might find him. It was also convenient now, because Jack opened it up.

"Come on, then. Lets go."

"Wait...where are we going?" Cal asked.

"Wherever you want to."

Cal stopped. "I don't want to go anywhere."

He looked back at his body, as if some miracle might happen.

Perhaps he'd just been dreaming, and he would wake up at his desk, open that bottle of brandy and realise there was always tomorrow, just like Jack had suggested.

_Why couldn't he have waited?_

Cal clenched his fists.

Jack was right.

"I don't...I don't want to be dead," he realised.

Jack's smile wavered.

"I know. Nobody does, not really."

He took some short steps, back to Cal.

"But it can't be helped now."

He held out his hand again, and Cal found himself grasping it automatically.

It didn't feel so bad, and he could briefly imagine another life, in which he'd acted more on instinct than on reputation for once. A moment in which he might not have cared what anyone thought of him. And maybe it wouldn't have all ended like this.

Too late now, though.

He looked over his shoulder, at the shape of his body again. The blood was still pooling, but there were voices in discussion now, all around him. Cal couldn't see anyone though, nor could he really tell what they were saying anyway.

"...will it be okay?" he didn't really know what he meant, he just needed Jack to tell him that it would be.

Jack didn't disappoint.

"Of course it will be. Come on."

Through the door, everything was much lighter, and it was like being outside for a moment.

Then Cal opened his eyes (unaware that he'd closed them), and realised he  _was_  outside, in a way.

He was standing on decking, and he was looking out at the expanse of blue-green sea.

The air was so fresh, and he was on the current, only he wasn't fighting it anymore.

"Hah. So this is what you wanted?" Jack sounded mildly surprised.

"I suppose it must be."

He also supposed it was kind of fitting.

He'd finally resurfaced, after too many years, and the man he liked to pretend had ruined his life had been the one to make it possible.

Of course it would have been Jack. An epitome of perfection, even in death.

"What are you still doing here, anyway?"

Jack shrugged. "I guess you wanted me to hang around?"

"Hm. I must be in hell, then."

The Titanic was moving at good speed, and though she was never going to complete her journey, she was never going to sink again, either.

Cal knew it. Because when he looked to the side, Jack was still smiling at him.

And they'd never smiled at each other like that before.

 

 


End file.
